Last Night on Thedas
by Zute
Summary: Teagan's last night on Thedas and he meets Andraste... or is it?


**Last Night on Thedas**

_I wrote this for the Valentine's day event at People of Thedas on Dreamwidth. Somehow in the process of writing it I recalled a bit of what it was like to be sixteen again. The title comes from a great board game about zombies, except replace Thedas with earth. That is my inspiration, but it is also a song and also a really horrible Belgium movie - which I haven't seen __but I did read the reviews for it which makes me want to see it... can a movie really be that bad?_

_Himalayan Blue poppies are very rare. I remember hearing about them at the ButchartGardens in Victoria, BC. They're really pretty, google them if you get a chance and they are hard to grow!_

~o~o~o~**  
**

Dust motes sparkled in the late afternoon sun shining through the chantry windows. It looked like a miniature blizzard, or a flock of tiny fairies dancing in the air. Outside the sun glinted on the wavelets in the lake. They were spirits of joy, celebrating the end of the day, or so his mother had told him when he was a boy. If it weren't for the nearly palpable desperation and misery of the people in the chantry he'd never have thought his last day on Thedas would be like this. Soon everyone here would be dead, and the world didn't care. The beauty of life would go on while the horror of un-death took them all.

The worst moment had been before dawn this morning when he had found one of them gnawing on the face of a fallen militia-man. He had drawn his sword and run the monstrosity through, screaming his horror and rage, but it wouldn't die. He continued to hack on it until it was just pieces of bone and gobbets of decayed flesh, and finally... finally it had stopped moving. That was when he knew they were all doomed.

The last thing the doomed man expected to see was the doors to the chantry swing open and holy Andraste, ready for battle, walk in with her resolute followers behind her. She paused in a golden shaft of late-afternoon sunlight while the motes danced around her exquisite face. She pulled off her leather helm and her flaxen hair fell around her shoulders. He'd always thought Andraste was a brunette. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Andraste did not rise from the dead to rescue the doomed, so who was this vision? A vague memory tickled at him: a tiny picture of a young girl, but nothing more; no name, no context. _Who is she?_

The woman and a man came forward to speak to him. The man made Teagan feel vertiginous with memory. _Tawny hair, amber eyes, that smile... _One of the villagers lead them to him. "It's Tomas, yes?" At least he could pull the villager's name from his memory, but the man and the woman remained a puzzle, one he felt he should know.

"Yes, my lord. These people have just arrived and I thought you would want to see them." Tomas pointed to the oddly familiar pair.

"Well done, Tomas." He turned to them, their companions hung back by the doors to the chantry. "Greetings friends, my name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl." He couldn't help but notice the small smile that tugged so slightly on one side of the woman's well-formed lips. _Ripe cherries_, he thought. Strange how in the last afternoon of his life his foremost thought was wondering if her lips tasted like ripe cherries as the color suggested. So absorbed was he in watching the slight quirk forming on her lips that he completely missed the larger grin on the other man's face.

"Do you remember me, Bann Teagan? I was a lot younger... and covered in mud." The tawny haired man grinned at him with recognition.

Teagan tried to imagine the tall, strapping man before him as a child. From out of the fog of exhaustion and horror, a memory snapped into place. "Alistair?" He looked the young man up and down, unable to believe how he had grown, but it had been fifteen years since he had seen him. "You're alive? This is wonderful news!"

The two men chatted about the defeat at Ostagar and exchanged shared fury over Teyrn Loghain's withdrawal and the deaths it caused. The woman watched him. Something glittered behind her eyes: a cool appraising look, a measure of calculation, even a bit of mischievousness there. Her smile looked mildly amused while the pitch of her brow suggested annoyance.

Teagan tried to attend to Alistair's words, but only a portion of his mind followed the conversation, the rest was consumed with wondering about the woman standing next to Alistair. His gaze wandered to her and then guiltily fled back to Alistair. He couldn't stand to not know any longer. He turned to the woman. "So... are you are Grey Warden as well? Is it possible we've met? You seem very familiar."

She shook her head. "I don't believe we have met, Bann Teagan, at least not officially. You do know my father however. Teyrn Cousland? I am his daughter, Anya."

Teagan nodded even before he understood what she had said. Words were not penetrating the cloud that swaddled his brain. The first thing to penetrate was the timbre of her voice. It was calm and low, not what he would have guessed. Perhaps he expected to hear more soprano tones, but her voice was confident and restful. Then her words penetrated the haze and a memory formed. A small portrait in a locket! It had been sent to Eamon years ago, when the Couslands were entertaining thoughts of finding a match for their daughter. He guessed she must have been a mere sixteen years old in that picture and now, surely, she had surpassed twenty. That was eight or nine years ago. He was shocked she had not married by now, she would be in her mid-twenties by now.

He remembered back to the day that Eamon had showed him her portrait and asked if he might be interested in the match. _Fool._ He had been involved with someone else at the time, a less than optimal match and one Eamon desperately wanted him to discontinue. He'd told Eamon to butt out of his business and Eamon had sent his regrets to Bryce and returned the locket.

"Are you here to see my brother?" Teagan's voice caught for a moment in his throat and he cleared it. "That might be a problem, Eamon is gravely ill. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts from outside the portcullis."

"What of the monsters that Tomas said have been attacking the village?" Anya asked.

_Blue poppies. I've only seen them once, flowering in an alpine meadow. The sun pierced their fragile petals like the sun is shining into her irises. It made them glow an impossible shade of blue like her eyes are now._ _Someone told me they're rare, impossible to grow except in the coldest parts of Ferelden._ He blinked and came back to the question. "The attacks started a few nights ago. Foul... things...surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."

"What manner of things, my lord?" Anya asked.

"Please, call me Teagan, my lady." _Please, dear Maker, please. Let me hear my name on your cerise lips once before I die tonight._

The hint of a blush came to her face. "Teagan it is. But you must then call me Anya."

"Anya." The name was old-fashioned, replaced by Anna for several generations. It suited her.

"What manner of creatures are these?" Her pale brows drawing together with concern.

"Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returned to life with a hunger for human flesh." Teagan shuddered, remembering the monster feasting upon the newly dead. He flashed upon the same scene, only with one of the monsters tearing at Anya's lovely flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the picture away. "You must not stay, Anya. Get away while you can." Impulsively he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Please, save yourselves. Each night they come back in greater numbers. With the political unrest no one has responded to my pleas for help."

"We'll help you, Bann Teagan." Alistair looked at Anya as if for her confirmation. "We can help them, right?"

She turned to look at Alistair and smiled. "Of course." An edge of her lip disappeared between her teeth and the crease between her brows came back. "May I speak with you a moment in private, Ba... Teagan?"

Teagan's pulse raced. _This is absurd, why am I acting like this? _He marveled at his idiocy. It was the shock, and the stress, not her. "Of course, Anya." He gestured toward a private corner of the chantry and she preceded him. The sway of her hips beneath her leather war-skirt mesmerized him.

"_Are you insane?"_ she hissed at him as she turned to face him. Her countenance changed completely. She wasn't a sweet, forgiving Andraste that walked into the chantry, she was an angry, righteous Andraste now.

"My lady? I..." His tongue was a block of wood in his mouth. "What is it?" His face pinched into an expression of hurt.

"Why didn't you evacuate the village? You had how many days to get the children, women and elderly out of here at least?" She pinched the bridge of her nose as if her head were aching. "Maker!" She spat the word like a viper spitting venom. "This country is in the hands of idiots and incompetents." She eyed him, her eyes narrowing, and her delicious, cerise lips curled into a snarl. "And you, ser, are both!"

Teagan's heart felt like it had been pilloried and flogged. His face bloomed with humiliation. "M-m-my lady!" It was like being spurned by a unicorn, flogged by a sunrise, bitten by a butterfly. To have the object of your adoration scold you so, it was shriveling. His manly parts wanted to get as far away from him as possible. "They..." he found himself scrambling for a reasonable explanation. _Why didn't I evacuate them? Maker, she is right. I am an idiot._

"No excuses, _Bann._" Her scornful emphasis of his title was to point how unworthy he was of such an honor and how he had failed his brother's people. "I'm bored with excuses, _Bann Teagan._" She unsheathed a dagger and began toying with its edge. "I hate boredom." She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly merry. "Fortunately it sounds like my boredom may come to an end in a short while. If these _walking dead_ are half as much fun as they sound, I may even forget what an incompetent fool you are, Teagan."

Teagan's mouth fell open and he nearly reeled with the effort of keeping up with her mercurial changes. "I..."

She held up a hand. "No, no, no! It won't do. It simply won't do! I liked you so much better before you spoke. I could imagine you were intelligent up until that moment." She raked her eyes over him and reached out a hand and tucked his little auburn braid behind his ear. "I tell you what..." she leaned over so her lips hovered a hair's breadth from his ear, "Teagan." His name was drawn out, whispered, like a lover might say it. "Would you like us to handle this problem of yours? Just nod yes or no, don't say a word, it might spoil my mood."

Teagan swallowed hard. This woman was terrifying. Moments ago he would have sold his soul for a kiss, now he would sell his soul to escape from her before her tongue flayed the flesh from his bones. He nodded.

"Well then, it's settled!" Anya smiled broadly at Teagan. The smile didn't extend to her eyes. "I will take care of your problem with the perambulating deceased and you will..." She looked around the chantry. "You will stay here and say comforting yet meaningless things to the distressed people you should have evacuated several days ago. Deal?"

Teagan drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Deal," he muttered.

Anya walked away muttering almost, but not quite, under her breath. "Maker, I hate nobles. Such a worthless lot of bloated uselessness." She flung open the chantry door and it slammed against the wall. Everyone held their breath and watched as she strode out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Alistair stared after her a moment, shook his head, and then followed. He turned to look at Teagan and shrugged, then he followed her. The others followed after him. What had gotten into his sister Grey Warden? He'd never seen her react like that. She was usually polite and respectful, even friendly.

Teagan wanted to run after her. Take her by the shoulders and make her listen as he explained himself. He wanted to prove to her he wasn't useless and incompetent. He suddenly thought about his brother and wondered what he would have done in his place. Suddenly he wasn't so sure that Anya was wrong. He slumped down in one of the pews and began to pray. He didn't pray for the villagers, Eamon, or Eamon's family. No, he prayed that he might redeem himself in her eyes.

~o~o~o~

Teagan spent much of the night to saying reassuringly confident things about victory to the frightened villagers barricaded with him in the chantry, but he felt entirely useless – she was right about that too. He heard the sounds of battle outside. Over it all, he heard her... shouting commands, cursing, and sometimes he heard her laugh and taunt the monsters they fought.

It was a little before dawn and Teagan awoke from a light sleep to hear... nothing. He strained his ears. There was no battle. No talking, no footsteps. There was nothing. A lump rose in his throat as he thought that could only mean that everyone had died. Would he leave the chantry to find their corpses, gnawed and defiled by the walking dead? Would he find her... her blue poppy eyes filming over and her lips chewed off. His stomach gave a lurch at the thought. Not Anya, no. She was too fearless, too indomitable... too mean to die. Mere undead couldn't defeat that spirit.

He waited until the sun was bright enough that the undead would surely be driven away. Then he unbarred the door and cracked it open. He poked his head out and looked...

"Maker have mercy!" There was Anya laying on the steps of the chantry, smeared with blood. One of the undead lay over her, not moving, but its sword was sticking out of her chest. Teagan ran out of the chantry and bent over her, grasping her hand. "Anya... my sweet, Anya." He wasn't thinking clearly, if he had been he'd have realized there was nothing sweet about Anya really. He picked up her hand and kissed it. When he let go of it it flopped to her side. "I am sorry, Anya. If I had evacuated the villagers..." His voice sounded tortured, wrenched out of his throat.

The corpse began to shake. "Ha! Fooled you!" She pushed off the walking dead corpse and pulled the sword out of her armpit, jumping to her feet. Her laughter pealed out in the courtyard. "Pretty good, wasn't it? I really had you going there."

Teagan looked at her, stunned for a moment, then finally his anger bloomed. "You! What do you think this is, some sort of a game? Do you know I have been inside that chantry all night praying for you? You... you're a heartless, mean-spirited... virago! I thought you all had died. How could you do that?"

Anya's mouth fell open. "Virago?" She looked startled for a moment. "I'm a virago, am I?"

"Yes!" He gave her another hard shake. "I thought you were...dead. Where is everyone else?"

She hung her head and rubbed her eye with her hand and slumped against a post in abject defeat. "I'm sorry, Teagan... I was the only survivor." The words caught in her throat and came out in a sob, her shoulders shook. "They're up at the... Oh, Maker... the windmill. Dead! All dead."

Just then Teagan head the jubilant sounds of men laughing and singing and he saw them walking down the steep hillside. His head exploded. What was wrong with this woman? First she humiliated him, now she was playing with him again. Was she mentally unstable? Perhaps he would have felt sorry for her in other circumstances, but right now he was furious.

He forced her against the wall of the chantry, his fingers gripped her shoulders. He wanted to make her stop, stop the games, stop baiting him, stop whatever the source was of her anger at him. "You... bitch!" He raised his hand and... he never came so close to striking a woman in anger. That she could provoke him that far made him even more furious.

Her eyes flew open wide and she looked at him. No, this time she _really_ looked at him. She took in his outraged face, the way his mouth formed an angry slash across his handsome face, and his hair fell forward, no longer restrained behind his ears. He didn't look like the effete, passionless nobleman she'd imagined him to be all these years. This Bann Teagan was interesting; more so than the man she had conjured up so many years ago, the one who had rejected her, the one she had so desperately loved, and then hated just as passionately.

Teagan watched her face change. Her cruel cynicism seemed to fade from her mouth and her eyes lost their look of spiteful amusement. She suddenly looked much younger, much more vulnerable. He found the words he wanted to shout at her came out in a hoarse whisper. "Why, Anya? What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry." The words came out of her as if torn from her throat. Her face looked pained.

For the first time Teagan saw the words and her expression actually matched. "Why do you hate me?" It was the only explanation for why she was treating him so.

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the fantasies she had built around him and how they had crumbled around her when that package arrived with her locket and the polite refusal. It was crazy to hang onto that pain for all these years and torture him with her girlish disappointments. "Because you are as beautiful as your portrait." She looked into his eyes a moment longer. He looked greatly confused, but she couldn't say anything more without becoming sixteen years old and feeling that rejection all over again.

"I don't understand." He let go of her shoulders.

"No, I suppose not." She reached out with her hand and brought it halfway to his face. She turned away abruptly and walked toward the men coming down the hillside.

Teagan watched her go. His head was reeling with exhaustion, confusion, and – Maker, damn him – love.

~o~o~o~

The people began to file out of the chantry and joined the militia-men and knights who had survived the battle. There was only one fatality: Lloyd, the barkeeper. There was scarcely a tear shed over poor Lloyd's passing as he sold bad, watered-down, overpriced ale; a crime judged more harshly than most in Redcliffe. The mayor made a nice speech and then Bann Teagan did. He thanked the Grey Wardens and the knights of Redcliffe and the militia for risking their lives to save the village. Then the Revered Mother gave a blessing. At the end the mayor organized the villagers into a task force to dispose of the bodies of the walking dead, and the poor, unlamented Lloyd. They would be immolated so they wouldn't wouldn't rise again.

Alistair spoke to Teagan after all the speeches were over. "We should go to the castle and see if we can get in."

Teagan couldn't help but notice that they all looked exhausted, not to mention covered in filth. "Why don't you rest for a few hours. There are some bedrolls already set up in the chantry and there will be a meal shortly."

Alistair nodded and thanked Teagan. Anya was uncharacteristically quiet and wouldn't meet his eyes. He thought he preferred her when she was cruel than to being so quiet and uncommunicative.

The Wardens ate and washed up. Teagan found himself watching Anya as she splashed water from a bucket on her face. Her beauty started to emerge from underneath the dried blood and dirt. She dried her face and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a highly charged moment when she returned his stare, then she dropped her eyes and turned to speak to Alistair.

_What did it all mean? _Teagan pondered. She clearly hated him, at least until he confronted her; then her emotions seemed to change randomly. _What did she mean by my portrait? How would she have seen my portrait? _He pondered awhile. Had she visited Redcliffe in the past and seen a portrait? Could this have something to do with the inquiry into a possible arranged marriage? It seemed unlikely. Such marriages were usually arranged by the parents. It was more likely that she would never even know such a match was being arranged until an agreement had been reached. Even if she had known an inquiry had been sent, why would she care if a man she hadn't ever met refused the offer? It just didn't make sense.

Of course it didn't make sense. Bann Teagan had never been a sixteen-year-old girl. He didn't spend an entire summer sleeping with a portrait under his pillow and daydreaming about riding through fairy enchanted forests on splendid horses and defending his lady love with his life. Anya punched the pillow on the bedroll to fluff it up and punch away those memories. She lay back with a sigh and the last memory that played before her eyes drooped shut, was that favorite girlish fantasy where Bann Teagan fought his way through a band of kidnappers to rescue her. She felt once again the delicious surge of excitement as the rest of the daydream unfolded just as it had when she was sixteen. When she fell asleep it was with a smile on her face.

~o~o~o~

Isolde sobbed. "Thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan. Bless you!"

Anya sighed loudly. "This is a mistake! You'll just get yourself killed." It was exactly the sort of thing that Anya's sixteen-year-old version of Teagan would have done, but now it seemed like foolish bravado.

"I cannot let Isolde return alone. Perhaps I can help them. Perhaps this really is a trap, but this is my family. I must try!" Teagan saw worry and concern on Anya's face, an emotion he never expected to see there. He stared at her for a moment. "Isolde, would you excuse us for a moment? We must confer in private before we return to the castle."

Isolde nodded. "I will be by the bridge. Please hurry."

Teagan gestured to Anya to proceed, they walked into the mill together, leaving her companions and the knights outside.

She waited until the door was shut. "This is stupid, Teagan. If there's something evil in the castle how are you going to do anything about it on your own?" She set her hand on her hip and glared at him.

Teagan sighed. "I know you think I'm an idiot, Anya, but I have no choice. I have to do this for my family."

Anya drew a breath about to speak again when Teagan put out a hand to stop her. "Just listen for a moment; I have a plan." He pulled a ring from his hand and handed it to her. "I might be able to distract whatever it is in the castle while you enter from the secret passageway. That ring opens the secret door." He showed her where the door was hidden beneath a pile of straw.

"Teagan..." Anya put her hand on his arm, "don't do this." Her brow was furrowed again.

"Anya, I must. Look, whatever happens, Eamon is the priority. If you have to, just get him out. Everyone else is expendable."

"Oh, just shut up. We'll get you all out." Anya's eyes flashed angrily.

Teagan smiled. "Look, I know you think I'm an idiot, but this _is_ the best way." He put his hand on her shoulder. "If I shouldn't see you again... I... well, it was a pleasure to meet you in person." He broke away and walked to the door.

"You're not an idiot." She said it so quietly he barely heard it. He paused a moment with his hand on the door handle; then he opened the door and left.

Anya tried to push away her teenaged fantasies and disappointments. If there was anyone coming to the rescue, it was going to be her... again. She felt a little guilty for having judged him so harshly and toying with him. Yes, it was stupid he didn't evacuate the village, but perhaps they had refused to leave, not knowing what had become of their loved ones working or residing in the castle. She should not have played with him so cruelly that morning. She had thought perhaps his true cravenly self would show. That would have driven the stake through the heart of any lingering feelings for the man in the portrait.

She laughed at herself. Those emotions she had thought were well and truly long gone had risen like the undead they were fighting. It was ironic... even worse, it was ridiculous.

~o~o~o~

Isolde had been right, the castle was the source of the evil. They battled their way through more of the walking dead, revenants – corpses possessed by demons – and even mabari driven mad. When they reached the great hall they found Teagan, Isolde and Connor, her adolescent son. There was something wrong with the boy. He was... possessed and he, in turn, had possessed Teagan, his uncle. Teagan cavorted about, like a jester, performing for the evil boy's entertainment. He cut a mad caper across the great hall and shouted "Marmalade!". Connor dismissed his antics with complaints of boredom.

They approached the trio and the possessed boy sent undead knights and his uncle Teagan to attack them.

"Get the knights! I'll handle Teagan." Anya shouted.

Alistair looked at Teagan with concern. Anya had acted so strangely hostile toward him, he feared for the Bann's life, but he trusted her. He turned his full attention to the well-armored undead knights.

"Snap out of it, Teagan." Anya hissed at him, parrying his slash. "Come on, Ser Marmalade, you knotty-pated hedgehog, fight it!" She deflected a lunge to her mid-section and cursed as he rammed his shoulder into her chest. She looked over at the others and saw the undead knights were pressing them hard. "Damn you." His words echoed through her mind, _'Eamon is the priority'._ She couldn't spend time on him while her companions were being overwhelmed. She tried to get inside his guard so she could strike him on the temple with her dagger hilt, but he was a better warrior than that. She took a minor slash on her forearm and that decided it for her.

_This has to end._ She whispered, "forgive me", and lunged. Her dagger sunk into his sword arm. It pierced the muscle deeply and he dropped his sword. His eyes focused; he seemed to really see her just as she struck him on the temple with the hilt of her weapon. He dropped to her feet and didn't move.

Anya didn't spend more time delaying. She jumped into the battle against the undead knights and her help made a difference. They gained against them and, after a long struggle, they finally prevailed.

Alistair looked down at Teagan's body. "Maker's breath, Anya! Did you kill him?"

"No! At least... I tried not to. Is he all right?" She bent over him and put her hand on his throat, searching for a pulse. His neck was warm and corded with muscle; she felt his pulse beating steadily under her fingers. Her own pulse quickened in response. "Get him to a bed and tend his wound." A couple of Redcliffe knights picked him up and carried him out of the great hall. Anya wanted to go with them; it took everything she had not to follow them. She had to deal with Isolde and Connor first.

~o~o~o~

"He will be fine, my lady." Ser Perth, one of the Redcliffe knights, told Anya as he cleaned out the deep wound in his arm.

Teagan lay on his bed, unconscious, his shirt removed. Anya looked away for a moment, trying to collect herself. This surpassed even her teen-aged daydreams. He was well-formed. Obviously a product of hard work or hard training as a warrior. He wasn't the indolent sort of noble she had convinced herself he was.

"May I?" Anya reached out to take the cloth from Ser Perth. "I've trained in healing somewhat." It was a bit of an exaggeration. She'd been patching up her companions for the last few weeks and she had sometimes assisted the best healer in Highever while he patched up the wounded and ailing in Highever.

"As you wish, my lady." Ser Perth handed her the cloth and stood up. "Call if you need anything."

"I have supplies in my bag, could you bring it?" She sat next to Teagan on the bed and inspected the wound she had delivered. It was deep, it would take time to mend, and if they weren't careful it might fester. She hoped she hadn't hit him too hard when she had knocked him out. She had seen people with head injuries lose their wits and sometimes even die. If he died... she would be haunted by how she had treated him_._

Ser Perth returned with her bag and she pulled items out and dropped them on the bed next to Teagan, not caring what they were. A few bottles of poultice, some healing tonics, bandages, her hairbrush, a few odds and ends. She was looking for some elfroot, she turned up the bag and dumped it all out on the bed and then she saw the bag she had stuffed it in.

"Do you need anything else, my lady?"

"No, this is fine. Thanks, Ser Perth. I'll call when I'm done."

He nodded and left her in the room, alone with Teagan.

She looked around the room and saw a bottle of brandy. Every noble always seemed to have a decanter set in their room, Eamon was no exception. She got up and fetched the bottle. The healer at Highever swore that strong spirits poured into a wound would scourge any infection. '_The stronger the better'_, he had said. It was very painful and patients often cried out in pain or fainted when he did it. She was glad Teagan was unconscious for this.

She brought the bottle over to the bed and carefully poured it over, and into, the wound. His eyes flew open and he gasped. He grabbed her wrist with his good arm; his grip was bruisingly strong.

"Sweet Andraste, woman, are you trying to finish the job?" His jaw was tight with pain.

"Be still and let me go! I am cleaning your wound." She glared at him. "It will fester if we don't scourge out the... fester-y things." The healer at Highever had better sounding terms for such things, but Anya couldn't remember them.

He took a deep breath and let go of her wrist.

"It will stop hurting so much in a moment. Just breathe deeply." She ripped a piece of cloth from some she had set aside for bandages. "This will help." She picked up the bottle of poultice and poured some onto the cloth. Then she pressed it against his wound. "Better?"

He nodded.

She opened a small box in her pack and pulled out a needle and thread.

Teagan eyed her suspiciously. "This seems like an odd time to embroider."

Anya snorted. "Not if it's the gaping wound on your arm. I hope you like blue. It's the only color of thread I have." She did exactly as the healer had and poured spirits on the needle and thread and even her hands.

"Eamon will be despondent to find you were bathing in his finest brandy." Teagan joked, his voice was rough with pain.

"Not so despondent as he will be if you die from an infection." She arranged his arm on the bed. "This will hurt. Would you like to drink some brandy first to help with the pain?"

Teagan shook his head. "No, get on with it. I would hate to rob you of any of your fun. You seem to enjoy hurting me."

She bent over the arm and carefully drove the needle through the skin then pulling the thread through. "I do not enjoy it."

His breath seethed through his teeth as she quickly stitched up the wound.

"How is your head?" She noted the side of his head, where she had clocked him, was badly bruised.

"It throbs." He moved his hand to touch his temple and winced when he did. "You didn't have to hit me. I was...myself."

"You were trying to kill me, I had no choice." She finished making her neat stitches and tied them with a good knot, then sliced the thread with her dagger. Then she put an elfroot leaf over the wound and began to wrap bandages around it to hold the leaf in place. "This will need to be changed several times a day. I will leave instructions and more poultices and herbs with Ser Perth." She looked at Teagan, meeting his gaze; his eyes were watching her face closely. She looked away to tie the bandage securely. "Sit up, please." She reached down to help him up.

Teagan sat up with a groan and looked down at all the objects scattered over the bed. One item stood out and was immediately recognizable to him: that locket. He picked it up with his good arm and clumsily opened it with one hand. "I remember this." His voice was low. The tiny portrait of Anya was exactly as he remembered. Her face was so much younger and more childlike than the woman before him now. "You carry this with you?"

Anya snatched it from him. "It's one of the only things I was able to take from Highever. A reminder of a lesson learned early in life."

At last, Teagan thought, he might learn something about Anya's behavior toward him. "What lesson is that, my lady?"

"I should think you would know." She turned away from him, a note of bitterness crept into her voice, the locket still clutched in her hand. "Since you were the one who taught it to me."

Teagan tried to raise his wounded arm so he could reach out to touch her. He hissed in pain and gave up. "I think perhaps I don't know entirely."

She turned back to him. "Don't try to move that arm. You need to wear a sling when you get up."

"Tell me, please."

She sighed and popped open the locket and looked at the self she once was. "The lesson I learned was to always guard my heart and that it is better to hate, sometimes, than love."

Teagan's face look confused and pained. "I taught you that? My lady... Anya... how? I never knew that you even knew who I was. What have I done to make you hate me?"

She smiled and looked at him directly. "I don't hate you any longer. I never truly did, I suppose. I hated my creation of you, just as passionately as I had loved him. I am sorry that my childish fantasies caused you such pain, especially when you were already under such stress. These were... not my finest moments." She flung the locket onto the bed.

Teagan shook his head. "I still don't understand. I remember Eamon showing me this locket and asking me if I would consider a betrothal." He sighed. "I was involved in a love affair with someone whom Eamon found unworthy. He very much wanted me to end it with that woman, so he was disappointed when I refused your father's offer." He picked up the locket and looked at the girl inside. "You were so young and I was in love with someone else. If we had married... I can only guess at how badly that would have gone."

She laughed hard suddenly, so hard that tears came to her eyes. "Oh dear, that is funny... almost." She reached out with her hand and touched Teagan's hand. "You see, your brother sent your portrait to my father months before my father suggested the betrothal." She smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Maker, I was a foolish girl. It embarrasses me now.

"I fell in love with you. I slept with your portrait under my pillow and could think of nothing but you for months. My parents thought I was too young to wed so they wisely ignored my infatuation until finally my father decided to send my locket and propose the arrangement. I think he was sick of my moping about the castle.

"When your refusal came back, I was destroyed." She laughed again and wiped at her eyes. "Utterly destroyed, as only a sixteen-year-old girl can be. My fantasies were demolished. I vowed three things." She ticked them off on her fingers. "I would never love again. I would become a fierce warrior and dedicate my life to protecting Ferelden, and I would become and accomplished portrait painter and paint your portrait as you truly were."

Teagan looked horrified. "Anya! I had no idea. Truly, I had no idea that Eamon had sent my portrait or suggested the match." He sighed and shook his head. "My brother is a terrible schemer. I would never have allowed him to do that. I am sorry. I know my apology is nine years too late, but I am very sorry."

Anya shook her head and smiled kindly at him. "I am glad you didn't know, Teagan. I had thought it very cruel to make the proposal and then refuse it. I did however manage to live up to two of the things I vowed. I didn't fall in love again and I'm a fairly good fighter. The painting though, I never did master that. Otherwise I would have hung a very unflattering portrait of you in my room to replace the one I burned."

Teagan laughed, then hissed with the pain in his arm. "You burned it?"

"Of course!" She laughed. "I taught myself to hate you. I convinced myself you were self-absorbed, vain, and foolish, and that you had pockmarked skin and a bulbous nose. Hmmm... probably unintelligent and an drunkard as well, most likely the sort to beat his wife. Oh yes, you had terrible breath and were clumsy to boot..."

Teagan laughed again and held up his hand. "Stop, please stop! Give me a dagger and let me finish the job you started on me. I am unworthy to live!"

Anya laughed. "I'm afraid I hung onto that image for all these years, so I wasn't disposed to like you when I met you. That you looked every bit as handsome as your portrait made me hate you even more." She bit her lip and her eyes looked sorrowful. "I am sorry. It was very childish of me."

Teagan squeezed her hand, even though it made his wounded arm ache. "Would it help to hear that I fell in love with you the moment you walked through the chantry door? Even as you were shredding me with your tongue, I was becoming more enamored by the moment. I think this makes us even."

Anya flushed. "How could you, after what I said? I was horrible."

"You were horrible, and very beautiful. I thought you were Andraste when you first walked in. Even though you look nothing like her in the portraits. I wanted to spend my last night on Thedas looking at you."

Anya looked down, suddenly feeling awkward. "You must drink this tonic and get some sleep," she ordered him and handed him the tonic. His fingers caressed hers as she drew them away. She began to pack away the things she had dropped on the bed.

Teagan handed her the locket.

"I am going to throw this into the lake. It's not a memory I should have held onto."

Teagan reached out and took it from her. "May I keep it? It is a memory I would like to hang onto. I think it has a lesson to teach me as well."

She tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "What lesson is that?"

"Be very cautious of the feelings of sixteen-year-old girls because someday they do grow up." He brought the locket up to his lips and kissed it, keeping his eyes on hers.

Anya felt a large lump growing in her throat. "We're going to leave for the Circle Tower to get help for Connor. We will be back as soon as possible. Rest and make sure your poultice is changed." She started to get up.

"Wait." Teagan grasped her hand weakly with his injured arm and groaned. "Anya, would you consider giving me another chance?" He tried to tug her closer, but his arm was too weak.

She sat down beside him on the bed and tentatively pushed his hair back behind his ears. This was nothing like her fantasies, but she was nothing like the girl who had dreamed those daydreams. "Teagan, my love... my infatuation for you was simply for an image on a canvas and the things I imagined. I didn't know you at all. I still don't. And you... is yours any more real than mine was? You fell in love with something you saw. You don't know me at all."

His forehead furrowed. "Then after all that, you feel nothing? I don't believe you."

"I didn't say that. I just don't think it is real."

"How will we ever know if we don't test it?" Teagan tried to tug her closer again.

"Test it how?" She scowled at him. "Rest your arm, Teagan. It won't heal if you keep stressing the wound."

"A kiss, my lady. That's all. Just a kiss. That may tell us more than all these words ever could."

Anya smiled. "All right, if you'll let go of my arm and promise to rest while we are gone."

He let go of her wrist. His arm was throbbing with pain. "I promise."

It was awkward. Anya wasn't entirely inexperienced, but Teagan was the only man she had loved, or thought she had. The weight of so many years of forgotten desire and disappointment weighed heavily on her as she slowly drew closer to him. Then her lips touched his and she closed her eyes. His lips were soft under hers; careful and yet sensual. His good arm went up and his hand laced through her hand behind her neck and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

Her hair was soft, just as her lips were. She smelled of the coppery tang of blood, perspiration, leather, metal, brandy, and some floral essence. It was a heady concoction of pheromones, one he'd never smelled on a woman before. His tongue teased at her lip until she opened her mouth. He didn't imagine her sigh as he felt her neck relax under his hand.

She broke off from the kiss and sat up, putting a distance between them again.

"What do you think, Anya? Is there hope for anything real between us?" He tried to keep his voice casual, not wanting to show desperately he wanted an affirmative answer.

Her expression was softer than he had ever seen it. "It may be, Teagan." She ran her hand along the length of his jaw. "When I return, we can... explore this further."

Teagan felt his pulse leap. "Then Maker speed your return, my lady."

She smiled at him, hoping that the Maker would grant his wish. "You will need that arm to be much better, Bann Teagan. Make sure you take care of it." She slung her pack over her shoulder and walked to the door. She took one last look at the real Bann Teagan before she left. He was still clutching her locket. Somewhere within her a sixteen-year-old girl was smiling happily.


End file.
